An Exile Walks Into A Bar
by The Cleaner
Summary: Smith finds his way blocked by the Twins and decides to handle them the same way he does everything else.
1. Memories Are Made Of This

Author's Notes: Excuse the pun but pardon my french. 

Disclaimer: The Matrix and its characters are the property of Brothers Warner and Wachowski. Any new ones are mine. Hurray for me.   
  


* * * * *

Smith stood for a moment after coming through the door from the street, the overly decorative lobby holding his attention for a moment as he recalled the last time he had been here. In many ways that visit had been the start of everything.   
  


* * * * *

The trio descended in silence, each one content to listen to the hum of the mainframe through the wires they all wore. Smith himself concentrated on the numerous police reports, filtering them, searching for anything in them that would bring him closer to Morpheus, closer to Zion. 

"The configuration of this construct has been altered," Agent Brown noted aloud, his hand brushing lightly against one of the walls as if testing it somehow. 

Smith frowned slightly at this vocal intrusion but still elected to give the structure around them his full attention, seeing now what Brown had already noticed. Hidden in the seemingly benign code that defined the very walls were more malicious alterations that could only have come from a program that had existed in the matrix for some time. 

"The alterations are of no consequence," Smith stated definitively, "Ignore them." 

Brown's hand returned to his side and he faced forward once again as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open, allowing them into a large open area where a number of individuals, both programs and humans sat eating. Smith's attention however went straight to the large and long wooden table that sat at the back of the room, where their quarry waited for them. 

Stepping forward in perfect concert, the three agents made their way to the table, their passing noted by more then a few of the patrons, some already making preparations to leave. Smith ignored them all, his entire being focused on the program in front of him, the elusive and fabled Merovingian. The program appeared as a middle-aged male, finely dressed and surrounded by a large number of armed guards, the majority of which registered as exiles also. 

He rose as the trio arrived, his arms spread wide in greeting, "Ah bonjour mes amis. I wasn't sure if the system would accept my invitation," he said gesturing to a single seat on the opposite side of the table to his own large seat. 

Smith considered the chair for a moment before finally sitting down, Jones and Brown seemingly content to stand attentively behind him. 

The Merovingian took his own seat and observed his guests for a moment before he continued, his rich voice dominating all others in the room. 

"Regardez cherie," he stated to a young woman dressed entirely in white who sat at his side, "the system deemed us important enough to send not one, but three agents." He considered this for a moment before offering a broad smile, "It would almost appear that it does not trust us." 

This elicited a laugh from his assembled court while Smith simply sat in stony silence, unimpressed by the Merovingian's display of apparent wit. Seeing that he was not going to get an easy rise from the Agents, he took up a glass from the table and swallowed a mouthful of its contents. Returning the glass to its place, he gestured towards Smith in a casual manner, like they were old friends. 

"If I am not mistaken, you are Smith." 

Despite himself, Smith frowned slightly, not expecting to be picked out from others of his kind. 

"Surprised Agent? Don't be. As the foremost trafficker of information within this…world, I am aware of every bit and byte that I can be. Certainly I am aware of the exploits of Agent Smith, a singularly efficient and particularly ruthless Agent. Oh yes, I've heard of you. It pleases me that the system sent you. It means that though it does not trust me, it takes me seriously." 

Smith determined that this program would talk all day if it were allowed to, so he elected to intercede, not content to not have control of the conversation. His own voice was calm and level in contrast to that of the Merovingian's theatrical rise and fall. 

"If you know who I am, then you know that my time is valuable. In your communication you stated you had something of value concerning the rebel Morpheus." 

"Straight and to the point, I would expect no more from an Agent of the system. What do you think dear?" he asked his partner, who had watched the interchange silently. 

"They all act so predictably," she responded in a manner that suggested nothing but boredom. 

Smith regarded the woman briefly, just long enough for her to register as an exile, a fact he passed on silently to his partners. Behind him, Brown was already compiling threat assessments for the entire room while Jones continually scanned for trouble. 

"You will have to forgive Persephone. She does not share my love of spectacle." 

"The information." Smith interjected. 

The Merovingian practically pouted for a moment. It seemed that no one wanted to play with him today. 

"I have a name. A Mister Reagan, a rebel who serves aboard the same ship as your precious Morpheus. He goes by the hacker alias Cipher." 

"This…Cipher is already known to us," Smith informed him. 

"Naturally, but I also have a particular number which he will contact at a particular hour in order to discuss a deal that he believes will be mutually beneficial to both him and the system." 

Smith sat back in his chair. This certainly was a new development. Still, there had to be a catch, there always was. He asked the only question that mattered. 

"And what is in this for you?" 

The Merovingian smiled at him. "Mr Reagan has already paid in full. From you I expect nothing but…a future courtesy perhaps." 

Smith's eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses. 

The Merovingian's smile disappeared quickly, the expectant excitement of swapping barbs with an Agent not turning out to at all as thrilling as he hoped. He reached into an inner pocket and retrieved a card which he proffered forth to Smith who took it greedily before scaning it eerily for a few seconds. 

"Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have other important business to attend to." 

He gestured towards the door, any pretence of friendship vanishing instantly. As Smith rose to leave, the Merovingian couldn't help himself and he added loudly. 

"If you ever need anything else, just call the Maitre d' and I'll make sure he gets you a nice table, maybe something by a window." 

His guards laughed again, more loudly this time, as they were now comfortable in the knowledge that the Agents weren't going to give them any trouble. 

Smith turned and regarded the Merovingian in the same manner he had to done to the card a few moments before. With one hand behind his back he addressed the table in a tone that sounded not unlike an elder passing on a wise observation. 

"In this…spirit of communication let me give you something in return." 

The Merovingian arched an eyebrow in interest, his attention held by the Agent, who continued, gesturing with his free hand. 

"Deep within the system there exists a file that contains the complete list of directives that will be issued once this Zion problem is dealt with. Not too far from the top of this list is the operation to begin the systematic elimination of all outstanding exile programs of which you are the most prominent. So rest assured, I will be calling on you again." 

Smith smiled benignly at him before turning and leaving with his fellow agents. 

The Merovingian scowled, unimpressed by the Agent's threat. He had been living with the threat of deletion for almost as long as the Matrix was in existence. Agents were like the seasons in this place, they came and went but meant nothing in the long run.   
  


* * * * *

The Maitre d' looked up as the former Agent approached his desk. 

"Puis-je vous aider?" 

"Yes…I'm here to see the Merovingian," Smith informed him with the slightest of smiles, not bothering to share the private joke with this excuse for a program. 


	2. Questions And Non Answers

Author's Notes: This is now venturing very dangerously into the land of A/U and will probably apply for a work permit there any day now. Any questions or comments are welcome. 

Disclaimer: The Matrix and its characters are the property of Brothers Warner and Wachowski. Any new ones are mine. Hurray for me.   
  


* * * * *

As the elevator idled to its destination, Smith once again examined the wall closest to him, nonplussed to see that nothing had changed since his previous visit. However this time elected to stare at the code more intently this time, noting not just the intention but the style behind it. To most intents and purposes, a wall was a wall within the Matrix. A wall would have predefined parameters that would define how it should appear in terms of touch, sight and even smell but this wall was different. 

For one, it contained a nested subroutine that broadcast a message that would only work on the subconscious of the viewer. In broad terms, this signal was designed to create a sense of euphoria in the viewer, to make them think that they were among the privileged to be allowed into such an exclusive establishment. 

It was a simple programming trick, similar in many respects to one that the Agents used, except the message they continually broadcast was used to promote their sense of importance within the Matrix. Someone seeing an Agent knew instinctively that they were figures of authority and individuals to be obeyed. 

His meditation on the subject came to a halt as the elevator finally came to a halt and the doors opened, once again revealing the lavish dining room that was practically empty this time of the morning. There were however a few cleaning staff milling around, all of whom stopped what they were doing to look at the unexpected visitor. 

Smith didn't give them a second thought and instead settled his gaze on the long bar to his right that ran along the opposite side to the window and perpendicular to the table where the Merovingian held court. It too was empty, he and his retinue elsewhere within the confines of the establishment. However there was still someone who could help him find his quarry more quickly. 

She unlike the others had not turned to see him enter but instead watched him on the mirrored wall of the bar, her head bent slightly to one side in an attempt to read a face that revealed nothing. 

"Another," she sighed, tapping the empty glass in front of her at the attending bartender, who disappeared beneath the counter to get her drink. 

Finally she slowly turned on the barstool, her every movement the definition of feline grace. "I thought your kind travelled in packs," she stated without a hint of humour. 

Smith regarded her for a moment before glancing at the few others still left in the room. 

"Leave us," he commanded, standing in place until they all had scurried off out through various doors, leaving him alone with the Merovingian's companion and a rather terrified looking bartender who was standing with the woman's drink in his hand wondering which of the two would be worse to disobey. 

"Get lost," Persephone instructed him curtly which he promptly did. She then alighted from the stool and lazily made her way round the counter and grabbed a bottle of wine before she looked at him again. 

"Would you like a drink…Agent?" she asked, her question hanging in the air between them. 

"Smith will suffice," he answered dourly. 

"Oh yes…I remember you. Well, I suppose you did promise you would return." She said with a hint of smile, her attitude a little too similar to the Merovingian's for his liking. 

"Then you should know that we have no interest in you, just the Merovingian." 

"Well as you can see, he is not here and will not be back for a little while." 

Smith felt his ire with the woman growing…all these little delays that were just stalling the inevitable. 

"There is a private office I can take you to if you want to wait. After all, the cleaners really do need to finish up for the lunch appointments." 

Not waiting for an answer, she made her way from behind the counter and walked to the center of room before looking over her shoulder at Smith, who watched her impassively. 

"Well…coming?" she asked playfully, her normally chilly attitude apparently thawing. 

Smith considered his options while he absently fixed the cuff of his sleeve before he slowly stepped after her, watching intently as she swayed forward towards the Merovingian's table and a large ornate double door behind it. She pushed it open and strode forward into a large hall with antique armour standing guard along the walls. 

"It must be a male thing but he has always been interested in conflict…of all kinds," she informed Smith who paid little heed to the oversized armour or to her continual prattle, content instead to merely follow her lead. She walked to one of the many doors in the hall and held it open for Smith, who stepped passed her and into the room beyond. 

This room resembled some kind of personal library rather then a working office. There was a large fire burning off to the side, casting shadows over all the furniture. 

"This is more comfortable, non?" she asked in a nondescript voice, apparently not caring whether he found it more comfortable or not. 

Smith turned and regarded her impatiently as she closed the door behind them. 

"Where is the Merovingian?" he asked, not wanting to waste time with an exile that amounted to little more then a buxom hostess program. 

She ignored his question and made her way to a drinks cabinet that sat behind a large oak desk opposite the fire. "He let me have this room for myself, to be constructed in whatever manner I saw fit," she told him as she poured some colourless liquid into a long necked glass. 

Smith sighed audibly, a strange noise to those familiar with Agent programs. With almost laboured practice, he carefully removed his thin dark glasses, folded them and placed them on the table between himself and Persephone. He found that during interrogations, it sometimes helped to delay things for a moment before really pressing his point home and with her, it was high time that she got the point. Consuming what could have not amounted to little more then a thimble full of the liquid, she watched the display with bored expression. 

"When will he be back?" he asked with almost palpable sense of fatigue as he rounded the table. 

"As I already said Agent Smith, my husband is away on busi-" 

With a snarl, Smith closed the distance between them in an impossibly fast stride, his left hand knocking the glass from her hand and into the wall as his right snaked around her back to grab a fist full of her long black hair. He wrenched her next to him, pulling her head painfully down so he could look down on her, his flint blue eyes staring almost right through her own. 

"Your husband?" he demanded his voice brimming over in anger and scorn, "What a ridiculously human notion." 

For the first moment in as long as she could remember, Persephone felt fear. It was a sensation she did not miss. 

Stroking the side of her face softly with his free hand in stark contrast to the rough grip he kept on her hair, he continued to rant, "I wonder how he consummated it…did he carry you over the threshold or perhaps he had you right there in front of some priest. That would be bourgeois enough for you too?" 

With inhumane speed he spun her around and sent her crashing into the liquor cabinet, which smashed easily as she went headfirst through it. 

"This is more comfortable, non?" he parroted mockingly as he stood over her fallen form. She struggled to turn as he bent down next to her. 

"Your husband…you're more of a fool then the humans. He made you the same way as he made the building. The same code that permeates this building shines in your eyes. You're no more then an elaborate sex toy. That's how others see you and that's how you seem to him." 

He reached into the confines of his jacket and removed his firearm, which seemed impossibly large to Persephone as he held it in front of her bloodied face in an almost casual manner. 

"Now tell me, where is your…husband?" he asked in the manner of a patient parent. 

She was about to say something when the door opened loudly behind them. 

"Well it seems that everyone thinks they -" 

"-can take the boss's property these days." 

Smith spun to face two dreadlocked individuals dressed entirely in white. 

"Guess we'll have to show-" one began. 

"- him that isn't the case." The other finished with an ominous grin.   
  


* * * * *

Next part…Fight, fight, fight. 


	3. Two's Company, Three's A Brawl

Author's Notes: Having tried fiddling with this for a week I've come to the conclusion it's impossible to write a good fight scene that doesn't descend into he punchs and then he kicks and so on and so forth. I settled for this instead. Any comments or complaints about the story, feel free to write. 

Disclaimer: The Matrix and its characters are the property of Brothers Warner and Wachowski. Any new ones are mine. Hurray for me.   
  


* * * * *

To the casual viewer, what occurred next would have been over in little more then a second or two but between the trio involved, it was a cautious if standard opening to combat. The Twins moved first, synchronised through experience and design, they moved in tandem, each splitting off a different way. From the depths of their matching white jackets they brought up small Mac-10 machine pistols and with no hesitation spat out a hailstorm of lead with a banshee wail. 

Coupled with their superior strength and the unique ability to "body hop", one of the principle things that set Agents apart from other residents of the Matrix is their practically unbeatable defence against small arms fire. The code for this ability is so deeply ingrained within an Agent's being that conscious thought isn't even required for it to kick in. 

So despite the fact that the Twins filled the point where Smith was standing with enough bullets to stop a small mexican army, every single shell missed, passing almost right through him to form an elaborate patchwork of holes by the fireplace behind him. 

Their ammo spent, the duo looked at each other, frowning slightly at this, though it was not entirely unexpected. One or indeed two did not survive for this long in the Matrix and not come across an occupational hazard like an Agent from time to time. 

Smith for his part simply rotated his shoulders before bringing his own weapon to bare. 

"My turn," he informed them calmly. 

In comparison to the spitting scream of the Twin's guns, Smith's Desert Eagle boomed like thunder in the close confines of the room. With a rapid motion, he loosed off the entire clip though he quickly realised it was useless when the closest Twin faded from a corporal form into a hideous reflection of itself before becoming substantial again once the bullet embedded itself in the door way. 

Smith lowered his smoking and emptied gun, his face a mixture of anger and disgust. 

"Ghosts," he spat before discarding his gun. 

"Agents," one of the Twins parroted, getting a smile out of the other. 

Smith stretched his neck before lashing out at the closer of the two. "Not any more," he proclaimed as a hammer like uppercut caught one of the twins beneath the chin and sent him arching back towards the wall which he passed clean through as his body faded once again. Ignoring him, Smith rounded on the other Twin, who readily snapped out a kick in revenge, catching Smith in the midriff and knocking him back against the large table. 

Now incensed, Smith dove forward catching his opponent by the waist and crashing the two of them through the doorway and out into the large hallway where the other Twin had just regained his bearings. Landing in a pile the two quickly separated and got to their feet, the Twin in a fighting stance that mirrored his "brother". 

Smith backed up from them as they slowly attempted to circle him in order to attack him from both the front and behind. For a brief moment he took his eyes off them and focused his attention instead on the room that they had just crashed out of, where he could clearly see the various cuts on Persephone's face begin to heal themselves. No doubt a gift of the Merovingian's coding expertise. 

He knew it wouldn't be long until she was mobile again and out of his reach, away to warn the Merovingian of his attentions, something he couldn't allow. 

His attention was brought crashing back to the problem at hand as a pair of fists came in from opposite directions, catching him in the face and chest knocking him against one of the ornate suits of armour. His eyes went to the large sword held in the armour's gauntlets but he thought the better of it. Weapons wouldn't help him here but perhaps numbers might? He promptly sent the summons and if in the mean time he managed to defeat these two, all the better. 

What followed was a graceful but deadly ballet of limbs as Smith's speed and strength fought against the numerically superior and sometime insubstantial Twins. One would probe for an opening while the other launched a flurry of attacked only to be beaten back as Smith ignored minor blows to make the best of his own opening. Forearms blocked legs, fists connected with faces, bodies pushed far beyond human limits but none of the trio backed down for a moment. 

A natural lull occurred when the trio broke apart for a moment's respite. Smith looked past the Twins to see that Persephone had fully recuperated and was now the magnificent vision that she had been prior to his intervention. She was already making her way out of the room and towards another of the doors and out of danger. 

"Looks like the little lady's going back where she belongs," One began, watching Smith as he watched her make her way groggily from the room. 

"which means we don't have to play so nice anymore," the other naturally finished, drawing a cutthroat razor from his jacket as he did so. "He likes to keep that for when," 

"I went to get up close and personal," he stated menacingly. He was just about to begin slashing away at Smith when a large crash from the other end of the hallway drew all their attention. 

Standing in the wrecked doorway that led from the main dining room stood three exact replicas of Smith, the only discernible difference being that they still were wearing their dark glasses that he had taken off during his brief interrogation of Persephone. 

"What the hell?" one of the Twins asked, finishing a sentence for once. 

"Triplets beat Twins," Smith mockingly informed them as his replicas rushed forward to join in the fray, the Twins eagerly meeting them halfway. 

Though he would have enjoyed finishing the irritating Twins off and perhaps even converting them, he had more pressing business to take care of. He saw a flash of white from a closing doorway and knew immediately where it was he should focus his attention. 

Adopting a quick stride that quickly grew into a looping run, he set off after her, halting just before the door. Leaving the sounds of battle behind him, he flung it open expecting to see a further hall like the one he had been standing in or perhaps an office similar to Persephone's but instead he found himself in a corridor of seemingly infinite length, comprised entirely of doors. 

"Programmer access," he murmured to himself, never actually having been in the fabled corridor that supposedly had backdoors to practically everywhere. 

This changed everything… 


End file.
